The First Quarter Quell
by lrose55
Summary: Hazel Ember, age 12, is chosen to represent district 12 in the first ever quarter quell.
1. Chapter 1

A Hunger Games prequel- The First Quarter Quell

Prologue

I was shocked. Stunned. When they had announced the Quell, I had assumed that the twist would be harsher conditions, fewer weapons, or something like that. I had never imagined it would be this.

The capitol audience didn't seem too upset, though. Baque Flickerman smiled happily, and the audience cheered. Here in District 12, however the reaction was quite different. My family stared at the television screen, their mouths hanging open a little. Caesar's words echoed in my ears.

"For the first Quarter Quell, the districts will vote on the two tributes to represent their home."

Chapter One

I smoothed out my cotton dress, trying to stay still while my mother tightened the ribbons in my hair. The Quell had been announced three months ago. The day of the voting, the day of the selection, had arrived. The bell tower struck 10 in the distance. I stood, and took the hand of my little brother, Eran. He would not be in the games for a while now, seeing as he was only two. He gave me the small toy train he'd been playing with and smiled. He could see I was worried and was trying to cheer me up. Smiling, I placed it in my pocket and led Eran outside, my mother following behind, her face pinched and worried. My father would be meeting us in the center of town as soon as he got out of the mines.

We lived near the fence that surrounded the district, and at night one could hear the hum of electricity. However, in this area of the district, life was a supreme low. The roads were made of dirt and gravel, and the houses were slanted and leaned against one another, topped with thin, tin roofs that sometimes collapsed during bad weather. The Hob was nearby, meaning early each morning my family would be woken by merchants bringing their goods to the black market. My mother worked there, selling jewelry made from the bones of mice she finds under the beds and shells of nuts. I, myself, have only been to the Hob a few times, always to bring urgent news to Mother. But each time I bought something small for Eran, who hardly ever gets presents.

By the time we arrived at the square, a large crowd had gathered. I gave Eran's hand to my mother and went to join the other twelve-year-old girls. Everybody would be voting, even small children such as Eran. We were filed into line, going alphabetically by first name. I was near the front, because my name starts with an H. I stood on my toes to try to find my father. I couldn't see him. _His shift must have run late, _I thought. The girl in front of me, Hannah, entered the small tent that had been set up in the square. After a while she emerged from the other side and joined the small group of girls who had already gone.

"Next."

I stepped forward.

"Name, please?" the peacekeeper said.

"H-Hazel. Hazel Ember.

The peacekeeper checked me off, and I entered the tent. It was about the size of my house, lit by a small lantern. A wooden desk sat in the center, with a pen and slip of paper. It was then I realized I had no idea who to vote for. Not someone my age; that would be cruel. But then again, this game is cruel. There's no other way of saying it.

I finally decided to put down the name of a seventeen-year old boy I knew. He wasn't very nice, but was strong. I exited the tent and joined the group of girls. Hope entered the tent to vote on who would die.

An hour after everyone had voted, Shira Trinket had stepped onto the stage. In her hand was a card. It contained the names of the two who were to die at the hands of another.

She stepped forward to the microphone.

"Welcome to the reading of the card for the first Quarter Quell ever!" she exclaimed happily, clapping her hands together. In the process, she almost dropped the card, and gave a small shriek like the world would end if the card got dirty.

Shira Trinket was your typical capitol resident. Her pale pink hair usually trailed behind her like a cape, but today it was wrapped up on top of her head like a freakish beehive. Her pale green skin complemented her hair in a way that was probably considered beautiful in the Capitol. Here is just looked… wrong.

"Well, I think it's just lovely how you all came here today," she said cheerfully.

_I'm thrilled, _I thought dryly. _Just get to the card so we can move on with our lives already._

"But hey!" she continued, "When it comes to the Games, people show up faster than I can say 'tribute!'" She giggled like an annoying 7 year old. When no one else laughed, she cleared her throat loudly. "Now, let's read this thing, right?"

I stole a quick look around the audience. My father had not yet arrived.

Shira opened the card slowly. She gasped, as if she actually knew the people.

"Our tributes for this year are Rye Harrowson and Hazel Ember."

I knew Rye. He was nice, but two years older than me. And the other one, that was… Hazel. Me.

The edges of my vision turned black. My district had voted. For me. I looked at my friends, who stared at the ground and shuffled their feet. They'd voted for me. I knew it. My own friends had sent me to my death. I clenched my fists in anger, but then unclenched them as a wave of dread washed over me. _Hazel Ember, Hazel Ember,_ voices whispered in my head. _You're going to die, Hazel Ember_.

I pushed them away and began to walk forward. _You're going to die._

As I walked by my friends, none of them met my gaze. None except Ria. She stared at me sadly. When I passed her, she tried to say something, but I turned away, tears of betrayal welling up in my eyes. She reached out to me. I slapped her arm and she drew back sharply. "I hate you," I whispered softly. Tears welled up in her eyes as she rubbed the spot where I had slapped her. The skin was raw and red. I turned away.

The crowd made a path for me, and I walked out into the open. Peacekeepers flanked me instantly, keeping pace with me as I walked towards the stage. I stared straight ahead, gasping for air. _Die, die, die, you're going to die. _Faces stared at me, ones I knew and loved. Ones that I had once thought loved me back. They had voted. They meant nothing to me now. Hushed whispers were spreading through the crowd like wildfire. A few drunken men paid bets, taking long swigs from their bottles. I kept walking.

I climbed the steps to the stage. Shira gestured madly with her hand, telling me to come over to her. I obliged. Besides her a boy stood, shaking like a leaf. His hair was light brown, and he had startling green eyes. He was a good foot taller than me, and had a thin, lanky shape. His face was covered with freckles. The only thing we had in common was that both of our minds were playing out our deaths.

"Our two tributes, Rye Harrowson and Hazel Ember!" Shira sang. The audience applauded half-heartedly. Then we were ushered inside the justice building by peacekeepers. The doors swung shut behind us, the click of the lock echoing throughout the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

We were ushered into separate rooms, furnished with an overstuffed floral couch and a wooden, polished desk. I sat down heavily on the couch and rolled over onto my side. Something pushed against my leg. I drew a small, wooden train out of my pocket. I stared at it and began to sob. All the tears of despair and betrayal and fear spilled out and ran down my face. I cried until I had no more tears, and then I just lay there, sniffling and hiccupping every now and then.

The door opened, and Eran entered. His face was happy, for he did not understand what was happening.

"Hayel," he chirped in his baby voice. "Hayel."

"Hey, Eran," I said softly, my voice raw. "I have something of yours." I held out the train to him, but he shook his head.

"No! No train! Train for Hayel!" He screamed.

"Ok, then. No train," I said gently, pocketing the toy.

My mother entered. Her black hair was falling out of its normally perfect ponytail. Her gray eyes were clouded, and she seemed older than ever. "Hazel," she breathed. "I…"

I turned away, not wanting her to see my tears. No winner of the games cries like a small child. But then, I wasn't exactly a winner.

A peacekeeper came and told us out allotted five minutes were up. As they left, Eran waved to me happily. "Bye bye, Hayel!"

After five minutes of solitude, two peacekeepers came and brought me outside. Parked outside of the Justice Building was a car with its windows darkened. I thought about making a run for it, but decided against it. They would catch me, and I didn't want to seem afraid. That would make me a target. So I got into the car without a fuss. Rye sat next to me, his face unreadable. We were both silent on the ride to the station. Shira was blabbing on and on about how this was going to be 'the best games ever!' and stuff. I tuned her out, not wanting to think about what lay ahead. I spent the car ride preparing myself to die. I thought of everyone I loved and casted them from my heart. By the time we arrived at the train station I was empty, so empty, a hole in my heart where my parents, Ria, and Eran had once been. But at least now I had no one to lose. No one to miss. No one to owe my love as I faced my death.

Cameras swarmed us like a bunch of bees as soon as we stepped out of the car, asking us questions about our plans, our strengths, and our weaknesses. I stared straight ahead, blocking it out. A photographer snapped a picture of me and Rye, and then we stepped onto the train. Shira dug an identification card out of her pocketbook and swiped it across the lock. There was a click, and the door swung open. My jaw dropped.

Inside the train car was a buffet of rich food that I couldn't identify. It was on silver platters and trays. A plate of fruit was in the center of a dark wooden table, as if put there for decoration. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me of my meager breakfast that morning consisting of dandelion greens from the meadow and some thin, tasteless crackers I got from tesserae.

"Hazel, your room is on the left, Rye, the right. Make yourself comfortable, but be ready for dinner by six. You will meet your mentor then." She left the room, leaving us alone.

Rye cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

He looked at the ground. "Great. I'll just go... yeah. Bye." He walked across the compartment and entered the room on the right. The door swung shut behind him. I sighed, then entered mine, the door hissing shut behind me.

My room had a king sized bed that was covered with a yellow bedspread so bright it hurt my eyes to look at it. A door led off it, which I assumed led to the bathroom. I made my way over to the bed and collapsed onto it, running my trembling fingers through the thick, quilted bedspread. Voices rang in my head: _Best games ever, voting, first quarter quell, die, die, die, die..._

I suddenly realized with a start that the train had began to inch across the terrain. Filled with a sudden desire to see my only home once more before I died, I jumped up and rushed across the floor to the window. I clenched the sill, looking for a last glimpse of something I recognized to take with me. I caught a quick glimpse of the only willow tree in the meadow under which I learned to read before the colors blended together as the train sped by.

I slumped back onto my bed, my head in my hands. My home, my family, my _life, _had all disappeared in only a couple hours. In a week I'd be dead, Rye would be dead, and twenty-one other children will be dead. And for what? Entertainment? To please those who have made our lives miserable for the past twenty-five years? I tried to think back to the other games, to thing of the tributes that died, but they all blurred together. Pale, lifeless faces on a television screen. Would I join the blurred faces of the dead, most of who were never thought of or spoken of again? Was I to be forgotten, dismissed as another nameless, lifeless tribute? A small, crystal orb trickled down my cheek. I wiped it away hastily with my palm and went to wash.

I slipped off my stiff dress and let it fall to the floor, and slid the satin robe from the bathroom over my skin. I slid my hands over the light fabric; it was softer than anything in my district. I was about to cross to the bathroom when something in my discarded dress caught my eye. My hand drew out Eran's wooden train. _One token, _I realized,_ I can have one token. _My eyes drifted to the small, circular wheels. With a flick of the wrist, I snapped one from the rest of the train and threaded my shoelace through it. I tied it around my neck, and inspected my work in the mirror. It wasn't half bad. May I still be wearing it when my dead body is delivered.


End file.
